Текст книги "Ravages"

Автор книги: R.A. Padmos

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

but quiet. I had no idea about Dan either. They never gave us any reason to suspect anything. Why

should we get nervous all of a sudden? With permission, but I don’t think Dan’s very interested in our

naked behinds. During training, he’s almost too fanatical. Totally focussed on the job. I mean, that boy

really wants to return to work. Afterwards, he’s behaving like a lovesick puppy who can’t wait to get

to his fiancé. You bet we make fun of him about that. But seriously, during the months when Steve

was recovering from the attack, we saw a side of Dan we don’t see too often with anyone. He made a

huge impression on all of us. Both of them did.”

Mr Degaré, you were the first to be informed about what had happened to Steve?

“I was, yes. It was a moment I will never forget. Some things you hope you never have to deal

with. I have given it much thought, talked about it with madame Degaré, with friends and colleagues

and I still don’t understand it. Why this murderous aggression towards a loyal servant of the club from

those who claimed to be fans? Everyone who has seen him play know he gave nothing but his best for

Kinbridge Town; a self-sacrificing defender who always played with the interest of the team in mind,

and a gentleman to his fans. Surprise, perhaps even shock, that’s to be expected. I’m aware we would

have been dealing with some potential problems once you guys would have found out about Steve and

Daniël, but this? I think I can guess what the next question might be. The answer is no, without the

passport photo in Steve’s wallet, I wouldn’t have known about them. They were both nothing but

professional in their conduct on and off the pitch. But when that photo was shown to me, there wasn’t

a doubt in my mind what I had to do.”

Mr Gavan, what happened that night?

What happened?

“I...don’t know ...”

Daniël’s hand resting on his. “I’m here.”

The cameras will show him saying the words, will show their hands. The sound will be

recorded. The words will be jotted down too (in case the recorders fail). Strangers will watch and

judge. Will pity them. Will not understand. Will cry. Will curse. Will still have doubts. Will deny.

Will believe they are somehow part of this, of them. This is the price he and Daniël have to pay for an

illusion of peace.

He talks. The words are like lumps in his throat, no water pitcher can ever be filled enough to

drink it all away. But he talks.

A long, long time ago, so long it can’t be measured with any instrument, though some will say

it’s hardly more than half a year, a man, not very young and not very old, went for a walk. That man,

you have to know, was so very much in love with a younger man from a faraway country that he could

see nothing but beauty in everything around him …

“Daniël was spending a few days with his parents, who came over from Holland. I wanted to

think about my future. I wondered if it could be our future. So I decided to take a walk before I went

home. I didn’t pay attention to where I was going.”

But not everything was beautiful and some ugly monsters, no, the facts are what they are,

human beings, just like the man who was in love, didn’t want to believe that love ...

He had just been at the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s the bitter truth of it. It wasn’t

about what he was, about whom he loved, but all about what they thought he was doing.

“I wasn’t aware of what was happening in that park, what kind of place it was, until it was too

late. It’s not for me to judge others, but...sorry...not my thing. I’m too old-fashioned I guess. I didn’t

run away because I couldn’t believe anyone would think I had anything to do with those cruising men.

I still have trouble understanding why anyone would even want to...sorry...I guess I’m a bit naive in

these matters...sorry ...”

And those men? They weren’t there for the first time it seems.

“They were out to beat people up, the men with their nailed boots. But they were used to

everyone always running away. That’s what I heard them say. And then someone didn’t run away.

Someone they recognised and admired. How could I have known?”

Does his hand tremble? Or is it Daniël’s?

Daniël spoke as he squeezed his hand, “All of you must have seen the pictures, the video. What

more do you expect him to say?”

What are your plans for the future, Mr Gavan?

Next question. Next. Next. There must be plans, things to do, to achieve. They’ve already seen

death on his face by simply downloading a video from the internet; that has to be so much more

interesting than anything he could possibly tell.

“Getting married, doing my exercises, having a few more operations, learning to read and write

again as well as I can.”

If we can return to the men who ran away without warning you? What are your thoughts about

them?

“I have no thoughts about them; none at all.”

And the men ...

Daniël sounded like he tried to hide his irritation as he spoke again: “Honestly, what do you

expect him to say? Or me?”

What do you feel will be the effects of your coming out on professional football?

This one, too, is for Daniël to answer.

“I didn’t come out. Neither of us did.”

Disbelieving laughter from the journalists.

“Do you come out as heterosexual when you defend your wife or girlfriend against the vilest

slander? When you hold her hand to show support and affection?”

But you have to admit ...

“I speak for me, for us, and for no one else. We’re nobody’s role models, or how do you call it.

And we never will be. But we’re no longer being so-called discreet, like we’re talking about some

embarrassing disease or a dirty secret. We’re as private with our private lives as the captain or the

manager, or any of you. Nothing less, nothing more. It’s really simple. I love Steve, Steve loves me.

As long as a club wants me, I’ll play football. If it comes down to there’s no place for someone like

me in high-level professional football, like it has always been said, I’ll find something else to support

myself and my husband.”

Do you know of other gay players in the league?

“You all remember the one that got destroyed by it, more than ten years ago. Or you should. It

went pretty much silent after that, didn’t it? Perhaps I do, perhaps you do, without being aware of it.

Let people decide for themselves.”

Mr Degaré, will things change now there’s an openly gay couple?

“There will be football and matches to be won. Simple, non?”

Mr Kirkby, your opinion on this?

“After what happened to Steve, it all changed, didn’t it? The whole discussion became a bit

obsolete if you ask me. I want players with me on the pitch who do their job, talented men who care

about the game and the club. Why should I give a shit, pardon me, about the colour of their skin, the

gender of their spouses or the kind of music they prefer?”

And the fans? The sponsors?

Degaré answered this one and to Steve he sounded almost tired, like it wasn’t the first time he

had said those words, “I firmly believe true fans support the players for their talent and their work for

the club. And in most cases, I know I’m right about that. The others shouldn’t call themselves

supporters. Any sponsor who loves their money will keep a sharp eye on the fans. I understand there’s

been a sharp increase in the sales of Borghart shirts. There’ve even been special requests for Gavan

ones.”

Still, there have been season ticket holders of many years sending back their cards. Fights with

rival clubs. Wasn’t there a petition …?

It’s Matthew’s turn again. “I heard about it, of course, and it makes me angry and

disappointed. Some people can’t deal with reality and some of those people are, sadly enough, football

fans.”

More answers follow more questions about the police, the hospital, the whatever.

Steve feels his face tense up in a forced smile.

Mr Gavan, will you miss football?

He had been willing, less than a year ago, to give up the love of his life for, when all is said and

done, a game. He had been giving up his boy without even trying to put up a fight.

“I’m going to be Daniël’s biggest fan when he gets into the selection again. Okay, apart from

his mother, perhaps. Support the other lads too. So I guess I don’t have to miss football.”

The Dutch press get their opportunity. Steve can guess their questions and Dan’s answers.

Finally, it’s over. His muscles tremble in fatigue. His limbs refuse to obey his overloading

brain. Everything hurts. Even his bones ache with gnawing pain.

“I don’t know how I’m...please, help me Danny.” Leaning heavily on his lover, he makes it to

the car. He wants to get away, to get home.

*

A letter from the lawyer is waiting for him, and he asks Daniël to read it aloud.

“It says that the trial is getting near and they will call you a day or so before it actually starts. I

guess that’s good, in a way.”

“I can’t deal with it right now. I’m so tired.”

Daniël helps him to bed without saying more than a few words, kissing him on the forehead.

“Rest a bit.”

“In your arms? Please, Danny?” Why such fear in his voice?

“Right where you belong.” Daniël settles next to him, making sure Steve rests as comfortably

as possible against his shielding body.

That same day, after they’ve had tea, Daniël downloads the press conference on his laptop.

Staring at the screen Steve feels a shock at what he’s actually seeing. Is he that slow-speaking

man? The man who sounds like he has trouble even formulating the simplest answers, dragging the

words from an unwilling brain with a sluggish tongue? The man whose eyes seem to have trouble

focusing? The man clutching his beloved’s hand? His beautiful, young, healthy, so full of life and

talent boy? The man who’s almost unable to stand from his chair and can’t leave the press room

without assistance?

Is he the pitiful shadow of what less than a year ago was a healthy man in his prime?

Is this what people are seeing?

Is this what Daniël loves?

Steve hides his face against Daniël’s body and cries his heart out.

Chapter 23

Even tears that seem to fall without end have to dry up at some point. After that, there’s pure

empty nothingness. No relief or remaining sadness. Nothing. Not even exhaustion. Daniël holds him

through it all, not trying to soothe him or show him there are other, more helpful ways of interpreting

his situation; offering his body as an anchor against the storm. He thinks at some point he falls asleep,

but there’s too little difference between sleeping and waking to be sure. He knows, however, Daniël is

with him, every second of every minute of every hour. And just like he used that knowledge to leave

perfect peace and joy behind, because making sure his beloved didn’t have to lose him was more

important than any version of paradise, he uses it again to slowly wake up from this almost catatonic

state.

Daniël kisses him on his lips. “I’ll make tea and something to eat. Perhaps you’d like a shower

later.”

Steve lets it all happen. He doesn’t have the illusion that a good cry will make everything okay

somehow, but for now he accepts the quiet resignation before there will be some long, hard talking to

do. He has seen himself through the impartial eyes of the stranger and if his marriage to Daniël is to

have any sort of chance, they’ll have to come face to face with it, one way or the other. Even Daniël’s

love, that can’t be measured or perhaps fully understood, won’t be enough to prevent them from

having to walk a different path at times to arrive at the same point; and if it does turn out they were on

the same road all along, their steps won’t be matching.

“First tea and sandwiches, then a shower, and if you don’t need to rest by then, we’ll talk.”

Daniël smiles when he puts the tray on the table, but Steve can hear in his voice he means business.

They sit on the couch, touching as much of each other as possible while drinking tea and eating

ham and cheese sandwiches.

“Nice,” Daniël sighs and he kisses Steve’s cheek.

Steve’s in awe at how Daniël is able to fully enjoy this simple moment, no matter what’s

behind him or what’s still waiting for him. If he’s worried about Steve’s moment of deep mourning,

and Steve can’t imagine he isn’t, it doesn’t keep him from sitting next to his lover, drinking tea,

kissing his cheek and saying, “Nice.”

After a long, hot shower Steve, doesn’t have enough energy left to even pretend he’s up for

some serious talking.

If he dreams, he doesn’t remember.

He must have been sleeping for more hours than usual because by the time he’s awake, it’s

fully light and Daniël is up and dressed.

“I just got an e-mail from the estate agent about some houses we might want to take a look at.

Relax; it’s only photos and descriptions. I have afternoon training. So do you. And we mustn’t forget

to get something for supper. I’m thinking of omelettes.” Daniël talks while he shaves Steve in the

bathroom. “There’s another letter too. I guess from a fan. The handwriting looks the same as the first

one. Shall I open them?”

“I don’t feel like reading letters from fans right now. I know it sounds rude and unthankful, but

… perhaps later?”

“Everyone knows by now that any mail to you should go through the club. Not our fault if

there’s always a few who won’t listen. By the way, Matthew messaged me; there are some very nice

reactions to the press conference. You mind if I get a few newspapers?”

Steve knows Daniël doesn’t expect a real answer, or even a reaction, it’s just him starting the

day in a pleasant manner. He also isn’t trying to evade the hard subjects; there will be time for those,

too. But it would be unbearable to talk about the truth that stared him in the face when he watched the

press conference without knowing Daniël is seriously training again, without the everyday stuff.

After breakfast, Daniël goes for a quick round of shopping, while Steve gets his books,

notebook and pen out to work on his reading and writing. Only when Daniël has closed the door

behind him does he become fully conscious that he’s alone in what is still his own apartment, for the

first time since he came back from hospital. He shrugs it off as something of minor importance,

although he guesses it’s not as easy for his lover. Leaving him alone in the house, even if it’s just for

an hour, is something the boy must have lost quite a bit of sleep over. But he’s a brave, sensible

spouse and so he does what he has to do.

Steve smiles while he reads, syllable for syllable, words of growing complexity.

Hedgehog comes snuffling in his prickly coat ...

He has to remind himself that it wasn’t long ago since he discovered words had changed into

unreadable hieroglyphs, because he’s so very ready for anything that isn’t cute and inoffensive. Then

he reads on. Any practice is good practice and after lunch, it’s time to do his physical exercises to

strengthen his muscles. If he works hard and luck smiles upon him, he should be able to give Daniël a

really nice surprise very soon.

Something close to pride stretches its warm fingers out over all of his body. No matter how sad

he still feels about what he has seen about himself, he still wants to be as healthy and as strong as

possible for Daniël. Because he will not again offer his boy something he didn’t ask for. That sadness

is something he truly can’t bear a second time.

The sound of the key opening the front door startles him for a minor fraction of a second, and

then he recognizes Dan’s footsteps and smiles. No doubt this is going to become one of his favourite

sounds.

“Hey gorgeous,” Daniël kisses him. “Sorry, took me a bit longer than I planned. They’re good

people and mean well, but I can’t spend the rest of the day talking with fans and giving out autographs

when I have to prepare lunch for the sexy beast who happens to be my fiancé.”

“No one said anything hateful?”

“I think I heard a couple of boys shouting something, but I bet they were having some kind of

bet.” Daniël starts to laugh. “You should have seen the groups of giggling, blushing girls and their

mums. ‘You two looked so cute together in the papers. You’re the most romantic things ever.’ I’m

glad there was at least the guy behind me at the check-out who wanted to know when Degaré planned

on letting me start again.”

“Must have been nice, talking footy for a bit.” Steve sets the books aside.

“It was.” Daniël puts the groceries away and stacks the papers he bought on the table. “They

asked how you’re doing, and if you’re getting used being home again, if you’re still in a lot of pain

and if the doctors think everything will be alright.”

“And what did you tell them?” Steve uses his crutches to follow Daniël around.

“That you are doing wonderfully and work very hard, but still have a long way to go. They

seem to genuinely care. I couldn’t just ignore them like with the paparazzi. Not after all the cards and

mails and little gifts. Is that okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be okay?” Steve leans against the kitchen sink while Daniël gets out the eggs

for lunch.

“I don’t know. It’s private?”

Steve can see he’s half serious about this.

“We’ll be friendly and polite to the friendly and polite, and we’ll ignore the rude and nasty as

much as possible. All the rest is a matter of behaving like normal, decent human beings. I can’t think

of a better way to get as much privacy as possible.”

Daniël nods. “That comes down to us just being ourselves. I like that idea, not having to

pretend and making sure we behave in such way we don’t even have to lie because no one’s going to

even ask that one question. You want mushrooms with your omelette? Ham too?”

They happily chatter through the meal about their plans for the rest of the day. Daniël doesn’t

make a secret of how much he enjoys training again. Steve accepts doing his exercises is not his

favourite hobby, but he sees no reason to make a tragedy out of it.

The crushing sadness of yesterday takes on an almost surreal quality. Or perhaps it’s just being

ignored for the time being, like the unread papers and the envelopes that are still unopened. Because

while Daniël might be wearing his watch again and there are moments during the day they have to

follow the rules of time, he has learned in the past months that things don’t go away if you put them

aside for a bit.

And so, after training and after tea, Daniël opens the newspapers one by one and grins and

frowns and chuckles and reads parts of it to Steve. There are some screaming headlines, but the words

are nice enough. There are fair and to the point reports about what each of them said. There are sharp

and insightful background articles. There are some interviews with managers and players of other

clubs, but also with a spokesperson from a GLTB pressure group and a handful of gay football fans.

And okay, there’s still the condescending undertone in the choice of words in the tabloids, but

in comparison to the usual tone about this subject, it’s a miracle of decency.

“I guess even for them it’s no fun kicking a man who looked into his own grave and came back

alive,” Daniël comments.

Steve shrugs. “I doubt if they really believe me that I truly didn’t know.”

“You care?”

“What those sorts of people think? No.”

“This is interesting. Want to hear?” When Steve nods, he reads aloud, “‘The question has been

asked many times: is there a place for openly gay professional footballers? The answer given in

variations on the same theme: football isn’t ready for it. The clubs. The players. The fans. No one is

ready for it. And yet it happened. And it happened in a city not exactly known for its glamour. It

happened in a club slowly climbing out from years of mismanagement, financial troubles and players

who had lost nearly all confidence in themselves and pleasure in their sport. It happened, and now the

world is watching.’”

Steve nods, unsure of what to say.

“Feels like it’s not really about us, doesn’t it?” Daniël gives him a small smile, full of

understanding.“There’s so much, going to take me days to work it through. Here, some guy doing a

psychological analysis about what’s happening around us. That’s almost a full page. I quote: ‘It’s hard

not to speculate about the group of men attacking Steve Gavan. The sheer brutality of their act defies

imagination. And yet the pictures tell a stark and undeniable truth. How much hate is needed to cause

such violence? And perhaps, a more profound question: how much love? Bitter and twisted love,

desperate in its ugliness, but love nonetheless. Sometimes a man can only pray for indifference.’”

Daniël falls silent.

“You’re okay?”

“And you?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.” Daniël shrugs. “I can’t deal with it now. New subject. I bet

Francesco and Gael have already seen the Spanish papers, Etienne and Alexandre the French ones,

Kurt the German ones and so on and so on. And I know mum bought every Dutch paper she could get

her hands on and puts the clippings in a scrapbook.”

“They wrote something about the gaffer as well? They must have.” Steve looks at the columns

of text to see if he recognises Degaré’s name.

“I bet he’ll love this one. ‘The Frenchman welcomed with an even less than lacklustre

enthusiasm by a team of players who were close to giving themselves up to relegation, soon became a

familiar sight during matches: short, overweight and with a temper. Managing Kinbridge Town

mainly out of friendship for the new owners, he didn’t promise to perform an overnight miracle. Being

a man with vision, Arnaud Degaré was able to envision the future. He promised that future would be

bright, and he delivered. But then something happened even he couldn’t have predicted. And he rose to

this challenge as well, staying true to his word about building a team eager to win instead of a bunch

of individuals afraid to lose. After the unimaginable attack on right back Steve Gavan, Degaré’s first

acquisition for the club, he didn’t allow even one single day to pass without a member of the

Kinbridge Town family visiting their two team-mates, with captain Matthew Kirkby setting a new

standard for leadership and, above all, true friendship. There are persistent rumours about players

wanting to leave when the next transfer window opens, but no one stayed away when it mattered most.

Anyone taking a close look at this club can’t be surprised about their current eighth position in the

league.’”

“Yeah, that’s the gaffer and the skipper all right.” He kisses Dan’s cheek. “Thanks for reading.

And now I want to hear about you.”

Daniël blushes. “That’s embarrassing ...”

“So they have written something really nice? Point it out to me, I want to try and read it for

myself. Please?”

“Well, okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you ...”

Letter for letters and then word for words, Steve, with a bit of help from Daniël, slowly reads,

“‘In a time of cheap thrills and fast sex, a man who looks like a boy barely old enough to be away

from home without his mum and dad, is showing us all a lesson about love, trust and faith.’”

“Told you, embarrassing ...”

Steve closes his boy’s mouth with a kiss, but doesn’t say a word.

He stares a moment at the photos of him and Daniël. Their heads close together. Holding hands

while standing in the parking spot, talking with Degaré and Matthew.

“What do you see?”

“Us?”

“Here’s what one of the gay fans says about the press conference,” Daniël points at a section of

one of the papers. A big bloke in his thirties with a round face, wearing the Kinbridge Town red-andblack

home shirt is smiling directly at the readers.

Daniël starts to read aloud, “‘I’ve been a Kinbridge Town fan since my dad took me to my first

match when I was seven. I don’t just watch for the pretty boys. Although, we do have some fit players.

Hey, I’m only human. But I do love the game, support the team no matter what and I can talk with the

best of them about strategies. Never miss a home game. All my mates know about me. Not one of

them ever said anything nasty about that. But I’ve also felt an outsider for as long as I can remember.

Of course I miss that there’s never even one openly gay player in the whole premier league, but that’s

not even the main problem. The lads have to decide that for themselves. But the ones higher up saying

fans wouldn’t accept it. Now that hurts, because of what it says about my mates and me. Like all

straight fans are the same and gay fans don’t even exist. I saw the press conference. Is this what

everybody has been so afraid of? Two guys in love? Daniël and especially Steve paid a horrible price

for a minority of scumbags who don’t want to be confronted with the so-called ‘our kind’, and a

majority who doesn’t stand up to them.’”

“It sounds like it means a lot to that man, us telling our story,” Steve says.

“I can sympathise with that. But this other guy, telling that it’s a pity we are not more political

and should become part of a campaign...I just want to live in peace with my man, be a professional

player for the next ten years and that’s it. They already know our faces, our names; they’ve seen us

holding hands in public. I’ve written how I feel about you in my blog. What more do they want?”

Daniël puts the papers aside. It has been enough for one day.

Steve takes his lover’s face between his hands and kisses him on the lips. “Make an official

declaration, be at the centre of something much bigger than you and me simply having fallen in love.

It’s not important what they want. Not for us. Not at this moment. I want you to train hard and do the

things you’re born to do.”

Daniël smiles and kisses Steve back. “Making love to you at least once a day?”

“You won’t hear me complaining about that.” Steve licks a trace over Daniël’s lips.

“I’ll make some fresh tea with a small, snack just like the doctor ordered.”

Minutes later, they sit on the couch, enjoying their tea and a good helping of fresh fruit pie.

When they’re done, Steve lets himself be surrounded by Daniël’s arms. He listens.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to understand what’s been taken from you. You were so sad

and devastated when you saw a video of yourself during that press conference.”

“How can love be this blind?” Steve can’t help the question.

“It isn’t. I’m not. I see the damage. Believe me; I have seen the very worst of it. Day after day,

I see the struggle, the pain and the exhaustion, the results that seem so small for all the work you’ve

done, the setbacks. I see how much time you need to get the words from your brain to your mouth.”

Steve listens with his full attention.

“I remember the man I fell in love with on the training pitch of Kinbridge Town. And I will

keep on loving him until the day I die, even though I know he’s gone forever. But I also remember the

man surrendering to death, but who didn’t die. I remember the man who woke up, who’s fighting so

hard to learn to talk again, and walk again. I love that man so much. That is what I saw when I

watched that video yesterday.”

Words like a fortress, protecting his beloved from an enemy that will likely never cease to

attack him; nothing but love and paper-thin words against fear and doubt and frustration.

“Promise me to walk away when your love changes into pity.”

Daniël doesn’t sound shocked in the least; his stronghold is still standing. “There isn’t a

chance in hell of that ever happening. You bet I’ll be frustrated sometimes when I’m out for a run and

I know you can’t run with me. I’ll be sad when I play my next match and you won’t be there with me

on the pitch, and never will be. Who knows, I might even be pissed off with you just because I’m in a

pissed off mood and feel like taking it out on you. But pity?”

“But you promise me? Please, Danny?”

“If it should come to that, what good would it do me to walk away?”

“You don’t know the meaning of the word quitting, now do you?” It’s impossible for Steve to

hide his smile.

“When it comes to you? No way.” Daniël holds Steve a bit tighter in his arms. “And before you

start thinking I’m not only ready for sainthood, I’m also unbelievably wise for my age, it’s nothing

like that at all. I had a lot of time, sitting next to your bed or walking around in the corridors to get

coffee or whatever. People talked to me. People like nurses, doctors, the gaffer, mum and dad, old

folks who walked in and out of the hospital to visit their husbands or wives and saw me. And if an

eighty year old lady with a marriage of over 50 years is giving me some good advice, you bet I’m

smart enough to listen.”

“It did hurt so much seeing myself. To know this is what you love.” Steve’s voice is barely

audible. He doesn’t expect Daniël to make it better for him, but still the words have to leave his

mouth. They have to be spoken and heard.

Daniël holds him in his arms, not saying anything for minutes.

Then, finally: “Don’t ever again ask me to leave you.”

Chapter 24

“So we’re agreed there are two houses in Hollycroft we’d like to take a look at, we’re getting

married in November so we need to hire a planner and someone who can deal with the press, but that

has to be coordinated with the club and we’re getting a bit low on the protein shake ...” Daniël talks

while he pours a second cup of coffee. “There’s some administration I have to deal with so we can

actually get married. We can get a marriage licence via the embassy, so we have to make the trip to

Holland just once.”

Steve nods, being content to leave it all to Daniël for the moment. The world is still a big place

and life is dauntingly complicated. He does what he has to do, earning any sort of progress with sweat

and toil. But the biggest part of the job, which is to get them married and into their shared home, is

simply beyond him. He doesn’t like it and feels his contribution is below what it should be, but he

accepts it, happy enough that Daniël never takes any action without talking it through with him.

“I really need to start and sort out these newspapers and magazines. Stupid how busy you’ll get

with nothing, really.” Daniël grins. “I’m excited about the houses and getting nearer the wedding. And

I don’t even care about the whole fuss people make of it.”

“You mean you just can’t wait for the wedding night,” Steve teases him.